by Jianne Carlo
He braked, switched off the engine, and hauled her into his lap. “Like I said before. I’m here for the duration, Melanie. And I’m hurting because you won’t even look me in the eye. We made love. I took your virginity. Talk to me.”
She didn’t resist his embrace but fixed her glance somewhere in the vicinity of his upper chest. Finally when he was about to force the issue, she met his stare. “I don’t regret a minute of it. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it happen again. There’s too much to lose. And no one can ever know this happened. My mother’s been clean and sober for eighteen months. If she even gets wind of this, it could send her back to the booze again.”
“Is that why you won’t let me take you home?”
She averted her gaze and nodded.
“And that’s why you need to be there when she gets off work? To make sure she doesn’t relapse?”
Once again, she gave him a tight-lipped nod.
He played with her ponytail, stalling, trying to come up with a win-win. “I’m an alpha, Melanie. Keeping you safe is my priority. I’ll let you out here and follow on foot to make sure you get home safe.”
“It’s only one stop to the reservation, and I’ve been walking home from the bus stop forever—”
“There was a murder last night. Not too far from this exact spot.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can’t park your truck at the bus stop. The whole point of me taking the bus is so no one notices us together.”
“How long before the bus comes?”
“Five minutes.” She heaved a huge sigh. “This is so unnecessary. And Mike, I meant what I said. This”—she waved her hands—“is not going to happen again.”
“Okay. This is how we’ll work it. I’ll drop you here at the bus stop, park the truck where it won’t be seen, and then backtrack and follow you home. You won’t even know I’m there.” He kissed her hard and set her back into the passenger seat.
Before Mike could hop out on the driver’s side, she shoved the door open and jumped to the ground. “Thanks for the ride. Have a good day.”
Have a good day? Not fucking likely now. Mike didn’t bother replying because the door slammed shut in his face. He glared at her, but she pretended an interest in the route map nailed to the back wall of the bus stall.
Mike pulled a U-turn, drove a quarter mile in the opposite direction to the dirt crossroads he’d seen earlier, and glided a hundred yards before parking under a thicket of dense birch trees sporting a display of leaves shaded in the hues of a riotous golden sunset. The pickup’s muddied chrome bumper was clearly visible, but he didn’t have time to worry about discovery. Mike dashed across Route 7’s two lanes and headed into a packed forest of oaks and tall pines. It didn’t take him long to reach the bus stop, and he arrived just as the mud-caked vehicle pulled onto the highway. He followed a parallel path through the trees.
Melanie sat in the very first seat, her ponytail brushing the dust-streaked passenger-side window. When the seen-better-days bus squealed to a halt a quarter mile from the border to the reservation, Mike hid behind a wide weathered trunk, fists balled as she waved to the bus driver and hopped off the last step.
Head down, hands jammed into her coat pockets, she picked her way through a tree-lined dirt path and then hurried across a meadow. Staying well behind, he tailed her all the way home and, though he knew what to expect, choked back a ferocious hiss when the lone dwelling came into view.
The roof repairs had been completed.
How much other work had Eddie been able to finish?
Mike had given Eddie an extensive list of to do’s five months earlier. The narrow driveway leading to the three-bedroom cottage had been graveled. Colorful shrubs and holly bushes, interspersed with clumps of wild daisies, decorated both sides of the path. The swing on the wide porch no longer lay on its side, but now hung from the overhang.
The plywood that had covered missing panes in the front windows was gone, and the sparkling new glass glistened in the sun. Eddie also said he’d fixed the ancient radiators that heated the house. But the dishwasher didn’t work and the freezer in the fridge frosted over every two weeks. Had he had time to fix those?
The tattered door to the storage shed located at the back of the house stood wide open. Two of the hinges sported missing screws, and the whole structure wouldn’t need a wolf’s huffing and puffing to blow it down. A stream of sunlight flickered across the metal parts of a manual rifle leaning on an inside wall. Stifling the urge to either take the rifle or secure the whole structure, Mike spun about. Leaving a rifle out in full view of a passerby was nothing short of a siren call for disaster. But there was nothing he could do about that right now.
In his hurry to return to Chabegawn permanently and stamp Melanie as his, Mike had let regular in-person meetings with Eddie slip and relied on sporadic verbal communication instead. It had been over five weeks since he’d last talked to the man.
Mato had been in trouble with the law since his father’s tragic death in the mill fire, and Mike had debated long and hard before hiring him. Eddie’s eagerness for the chance to turn his life around had finally convinced Mike to trust him with the repairs to the Laroque building. The Dorlands owed each and every family who’d suffered that day.
To his surprise, Eddie’d done a stellar job on the building, and when he had suggested hiring young Gray to assist him, Mike agreed and then used the situation to get the White cottage repairs in order.
Mike waited until Melanie entered the house before heading back to the truck. He pushed himself to the limit, running full-out and blanking his mind, letting the wind and the freedom burn away the mental cobwebs.
Five months ago, he’d spied Melanie in the woods by the Dorland lake cabin. One look and that had been it. Mate-recognition had slammed him into a space devoid of anything but raging, ever-present desire and a burning, desperate need to claim her.
As an eighteen-year-old senior, she’d fired his loins the very first time he’d bumped into her. But that last year in high school had been wracked with chaos. His father’s sudden death, his mother’s breakdown, the discovery of all the nasty secrets, the rejection from his birth mother’s pack, Boyd’s murder, and then the refusal of sanctuary from Melanie’s tribe had shattered his self-confidence and battered his ego.
It had taken long years to recover, and he’d had to concentrate on Drake and Mom and financial security. What he’d learned about his heritage hadn’t come easy.
Why didn’t Melanie know about him and Drake? Hadn’t Shuman called a council of the elders? He had ten times more questions than answers, as always. Halting when he reached the pickup, Mike stared at his leaf-blurred reflection in the driver’s side window. Frustration had him on edge, and the three-mile run at full speed hadn’t worked off a smidgen of the adrenaline flash flooding his blood.
Mike reached the office thirty minutes later. None of the dots connected, no matter what angle he took or where he started.
“Well, well.” Drake, seated in a tipped-back-to-the-max-chair, head cradled in his hands, boots on the desk, quirked a brow and then frowned. “What’s up, bro? I figured you’d walk in here wearing a shit-eating grin. Instead you look ready for a round with a punching bag.”
“I see you switched chairs.” Mike shrugged out of his jacket.
“As ordered.” Drake straightened. “What happened?”
“Some progress. Not as much as I’d hoped for. She’s stubborn, proud, and determined to go it alone. Doesn’t think we stand a chance given the history of the two families.” He hung the coat on the wooden stand by the door. “Any flak from rescheduling the conference?”
“It’s not as if it’s national media. The local and county press were happy to accommodate us. Something interesting’s come up.”
Rolling his eyes—Drake had a flair for the dramatic—Mike fell into his new chair. “Spit it out.”
“Another Native American male murdered. In Hurit County. The coroner ruled it
death as a result of massive head trauma. But get this—the body was mutilated after the fact. Limbs torn off and facial skin shredded.”
“Damn.” Mike dragged a hand through his hair. “That’s not good.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“How’d you find out? And how did they conclude the body was that of a Native American?”
“Sheriff Pincer’s assistant and Brinda are neighbors and friends. She had lunch at the Caboose. I sat next to her at the counter.” Drake sported a wide grin.
“Don’t test my patience today.” Mike bit off the automatic pup.
“Her name’s Tiffany, and she’s a gold mine. Moved here five months ago. Widow, midforties, and a font of information. Pincer’s not her favorite boss.”
“What’d you worm out of her?” Mike jiggled his mouse, and his monitor came to life. He hadn’t checked e-mail for two days. Melanie had him on edge, and he’d abandoned his usual routines and grown careless.
“The victim has been tentatively identified as George Mato.”
“What?” Mike fixed his stare on Drake. “Any relation to Eddie?”
“A distant cousin, but apparently the two men were friendly.”
What were the odds of Eddie and his cousin biting the dust in the same manner, one after the other? What had Eddie and George been involved in?
“That’s all I have on the murder, but I learned a few interesting tidbits about Pincer.”
He balled his hands into fists, already anticipating Drake’s news. “I’m waiting.”
“If Pincer’s getting any action, it’s not local far as I can tell. Got a list of his prior positions, and I’m in the process of verifying each one.” Drake snatched a couple of pencils and twirled them in opposite directions. “Pincer breakfasts regularly at the Caboose. Always requests Melanie’s section.”
Rage propelled Mike to his feet. He jammed his hands into his pockets, picturing Pincer bloodied and battered. “That report I wanted on him? Have it ready before you leave tonight.”
“Don’t go off the deep end, but Pincer’s not the only male to request Melanie’s section. ’Bout three months ago, Justin Laroque started breakfasting at the Caboose. Insists on being seated in her section.”
Mike near swallowed his tongue. “Justin? At the Caboose?”
“I already started investigating him. Man gets around. It’s only preliminary, but his credit card records show he favors a series of men’s clubs in the tricounty area. He travels frequently, but that’s normal for the insurance business.”
Mike flexed his fingers and tried to contain the red haze building at the corners of his vision. Pincer and Justin sniffing at Melanie; they were both dead meat. “I’ll handle Justin re the insurance for the building.”
“You look ready to explode. Maybe that isn’t such a great idea—”
“He’s mine. Leave it alone.” Mike spoke through gritted teeth.
“Okay. One last tidbit. Apparently during your high school days, Valérie informed the entire cafeteria that Melanie had a crush on you.”
His cock engorged in a heartbeat. “How’d you pick that up?”
“Seems like it’s one of Chabegawn’s urban legends. It’s common knowledge.”
Shit. No wonder she didn’t want to be seen with him. Change of strategy. He’d give her the rest of the week at most, but then he intended to claim her publicly and declare his intentions to the world if need be. But first he had to ensure her safety; Mike took a couple of deep breaths and refocused. “Find out the details about the kill in Hurit County. I’m going to install a perimeter camera system around Melanie’s cottage. Will I need to do multiple wireless routers?”
“Hmm. Three miles to her house, right?” Drake tipped back his chair and focused on the ceiling. “Yeah. Three. I’ll map out the GPS points right now. And there’s no guarantee that it’ll work. This new technology can be dicey in a rural spot like that.”
“I’m heading down to the basement to get the equipment. Call me with the GPS points.”
“Mom called.”
Mike screeched to a halt. His boots squeaked on the painted concrete floor. He glanced over his shoulder and waited.
“She wants to have lunch, tomorrow. The three of us. At the country club.”
“How’d she sound?” Knowing how fragile her confidence was at the moment, he and Drake had gone straight to Mom’s new house the minute they hit Chabegawn two nights ago.
“Nervous, but determined. I told her we’d be there at noon.”
“I’ll call her and make it closer to one thirty. Melanie works the breakfast shift. She takes the fucking bus. No way am I letting her out of my sight.”
“She takes the bus at night too?” Drake shot out of his seat. “Is she nuts? Are you going to let her continue?”
Let her? If only they were at that stage. “I’ll be staying at the cabin from now on.”
“Aw shit, Mike. Mom will insist I stay with her. She’s been hinting about that since we told her we were moving back.”
“At the cabin, I’m only three miles away from Melanie. What would you do in my position?”
Drake scuffed his shoes and grunted. “You have to pull the guilt trip, dontcha? I’d ask my brother to take shifts to make sure my mate’s safe. I’ll handle Mom. You concentrate on my future sister-in-law.”
The day Mike had finally come clean with his brother about their father and birth mother, Drake had matured and sobered overnight. He still had a boyish, innocent sense of play that wrenched at Mike’s heart, but it had been subdued. Big-time.
Mike knew Drake craved their adopted mother’s approval and danced a tightrope between wanting to please and protect her and maintain his independence.
“Thanks, Drake. I’m outta here.”
Mike gathered the equipment from the basement and loaded the truck from the underground garage. The basement exit led to one of the town’s quiet, nonresidential garbage collector backstreets. Before heading to the cabin, he stocked up on groceries and supplies at the local supercenter.
He had just finished unloading the packages into the cabin’s kitchen cabinets when Drake called him with the GPS positions for the routers. He noted the specifications and set the phone on the counter.
Hoping he and Melanie would be ravenous later on that night, he pulled out the slow cooker he’d purchased earlier and set about chopping the ingredients for the only culinary star in his cooking repertoire, a mouthwatering chili.
Just as he finished cleaning up, Mike remembered the promise to call his mother, grabbed his cell, and punched her preprogrammed button. The phone rang three times.
“Hello?” She sounded breathless.
“Hey, Mom. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Mike. No, of course not. Where are you?”
He didn’t want anyone knowing about him staying at the cabin. “Working. Drake told me about lunch tomorrow. We’d both love to come, but can we make it a later lunch? Around one thirty? That way we won’t have to rush back to work.”
“That’s perfect. I do so want to show my boys off to everyone.”
“I thought I’d come by afterward and show you how to use the new security system.” An electronics and computer genius, Drake had no patience with those who couldn’t keep up with him, and Mike had given him strict instructions not to attempt to train their mother on the system after installing it.
“I still don’t see why I need a security system. It’s not as if I’m living in Las Vegas.”
He gritted his teeth at the implied scold. She’d made no bones about how much she resented the time the two brothers had spent in Sin City.
“Drake and I will sleep better knowing you can reach either one of us with the push of a button. Humor us, Mom.”
He heard her deep inhale. “If it’ll make you two happy, I’ll do it.”
“That’s a plan, then. I’ve got to get back to work.” Would he ever feel comfortable with her?
“I’ll see
you tomorrow at one thirty.”
“Bye.” Mike thumbed End.
Could he make it all work? Shuman wouldn’t consent to him and Melanie’s mating, not without admitting wrongdoing in rejecting their petition for sanctuary. Melanie point-blank refused to talk about her heritage, even after he’d taken her innocence and shared his darkest secret with her. Mom blamed the White family, in particular Melanie’s father, for her husband’s death. The whole town knew of the rift between the families.
The rumpled bed linens caught his attention. Even across the room, the fragrance of her climax filled his lungs, enough temptation to stiffen his Melanie-ever-ready cock. He needed to coat his nose in her juices, bury his tongue in her pussy, and stamp his mark over every inch of her sweet flesh.
For five arduous, tormenting months, he and his right hand had made do, and now that he’d had a taste, he wanted it all. Today, tomorrow, forever.
He decided to throw the sheets in the laundry. No way could he function with her sexy aroma enshrouding the room. The drawn curtains let in wide beams of strong afternoon sunlight, and as he passed the couch, a metallic glint drew his attention. He reached down and scooped up…a cell phone. Melanie’s. Fuck, they didn’t have a landline. He’d found that out from Virgil. She couldn’t communicate in an emergency.
Mike hit Power.
And then realized he’d hit the jackpot. One, he had an excuse to see her; two, he could get her contact info; and the fucking mother lode, three, he could get Drake to plant a chip to monitor all her calls.
Change of plan.
He had to head back to town.
The pickup’s dashboard clock had him stepping on the accelerator. Three thirty. Melanie started at the clinic at five. Mike called Drake on the way in and explained the situation and his needs. Drake met him at the underground entrance to the building.
Mike didn’t bother getting out of the truck. He handed Drake his gold mine.
“Pincer’s background is proving very elusive. I’m going to crash here tonight.”
“I owe you one.”
“No. You don’t. You’ve sacrificed everything for me. Don’t think I don’t know it.” Drake snapped Melanie’s phone back together and handed it to Mike. “I’ve added the bug, and we’ll be able to monitor her calls.”
